Suprises can be Tolerable
by Clockwork Spades
Summary: England has always hated surprises, they infuriate him. But maybe one can be alright. Just some fluff


**Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters in this, nor do I own the book mentioned.  
Enjoy!

Surprises can be Tolerable

_For Georgie who I would thank for more things than anyone would deem necessary. Thank you for being ridiculously crazy and awesome, it makes my day when I read about pasta in an email._

To me, randomness is pointless.

It wastes time, is ridiculous and has no reason to exist but annoy me. Looking at anyone in this stupid excuse for a sane bunch of ambassadors, I would rather bash my head through the walls than listen to another word of utterly pointless and totally random dialogue.

And surprises, secrets, spontaneity? All completely infuriating, especially surprises, doesn't it annoy anyone else when you are suddenly dragged from your plans and told nothing about what you are going to be doing for the rest of the day?

I can't stand it when people don't tell me what's happening. The last person who organised a surprise birthday celebration for me had a black eye for a month.

So when I have a chance to sit at home, alone, it is pure bliss. Relaxing with a good book or cooking would be nice. Of course I have different plans on certain days and even if some idiot comes knocking down my door and annoying the hell out of me at least one of us would have a plan of what to do.

So that is what my plan is today.

I glance at my wristwatch, a smudge of mud on it from weeding the garden. The small hands tell me it is 10:30, I sigh. Not even time for tea. So I get up and put the weeds in my bin, taking it to the front. After doing so I realise I am ridiculously muddy, that might have been something to do with crawling around the rose bushes...and the fact that it's a rather warm day for once means I'm sweating lightly. A quick shower would be useful, and a change of clothes.

So that is what I do, entering my kitchen I take off my shoes and gardening gloves heading upstairs to the bathroom. After the shower I check my clock again, the digital numbers of this one seem to mock me as they read 11:04. I sigh again, pulling on trousers and doing up my belt. Turning to my wardrobe for a fresh shirt I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. Lean muscle, dirty blonde hair, I'm not what some people consider gorgeous but it'll have to do.

I button up my shirt; my actions seem to be almost mechanical. I suppose there's nothing else to do though is there? Paperwork was done yesterday as well as most of the weeding, the rest finished off today. I can't be bothered to cook, seems too hot for baking. So maybe I'll head to the study and read another book. It has a lovely view of my newly weeded garden I suppose.

So again that is what I do. Sitting in my large desk chair and turning to face the window behind me I hold a copy of Dickens's _Oliver Twist. _And I relax, pouring over the pages and listening to the slight breeze rustle in through my open window.

That is until the doorbell rings accompanied with banging on the door and yells of my name from an all too familiar voice.

Suddenly annoyed I snap the book shut, heading downstairs to silence the increasingly annoying thumping on my front door. I slam the door open, not bothering with a hello and merely snapping a _'what?' _at the grinning buffoon at my doorstep.

But of course I don't get an answer and am dragged out of the house with barely enough time to grab my keys and phone. I'm almost shoved into a car and driven away from my house, the complete twit driving continuing to grin and either not hearing or ignoring my demands to know where we are going and what is going on.

Eventually we arrive at a park, I'm surprised the idiot even knows this was here, but never the less he drags me out again and grabs a-oh no, is that a picnic basket! My indignant response to his madness only seems to amuse the git more as he grabs my hand again and starts to stroll through the almost empty park.

This surprises me and I begin to simply walk with him, still curious as to what is happening but it rolls off as we start a pleasant conversation. Starting with his jabs at the surprisingly good weather and my constant shut ups. I let the larger hand in mine lead me, subconsciously beginning to move closer until I could rest my head on his shoulder.

If he notices he doesn't say anything, probably for his own good or I would have ripped my hand from his and continued walking a metre away. After what seems like an age, but is only five minutes I ask again where we are going but the man next to me only grins wider and taps the side of his nose. The sight annoys me as he keeps the basket balanced in the same hand that he taps his nose with.

Sooner or later we wind up at a ledge that overlooks a small lake the park holds. Funny, I didn't notice a climb uphill, but never mind. The idiot lets go of my hand to put out a clichéd chequered picnic blanket on the soft grass and pull me down onto it. The trees behind and around us provide us with some form of shade and privacy and I let him bring out food, after reprimanding him of ants and only permitting he take out what we would eat immediately.

He laughs and pecks my cheek, sending a light blush to spring up upon them and to laugh again calling me 'adorable'. Of course I argue with him but he soon shuts me up by planting a similar kiss on my lips. Of course, as irritated as I am with his stupid comments and springing a picnic on me, I can't help but give in. After all, it has been a while since we saw each other and for some reason I can't help but love the fool. I can't seem to help anything around him.

So we eat the food as it is lunchtime, and he insists on feeding me strawberries. He's managed to actually bring champagne with two crystal flutes and I'm shocked that he has hidden it so well beneath the rest of the food in the basket. He pours it into the glasses and hands me one, warning lightly that it will be the only one I get on account of the alcohol. I hit him half-heartedly and roll my eyes, but unable to stop the small smile that appears on my face.

We waste more time in conversation and sipping the champagne, when I eventually check my watch again it is 12:27. The car journey must have been shorter than I thought; not being told where we were going seemed to elongate the journey. But never the less we continue with our pointless chat, telling each other what's happened ranging from pointless to important.

At some point he packed away the champagne bottle, still more than half full, and the empty glasses; pulling me up by the hand to take another walk. At my objection to just sit where we are he insists he has something to show me and tugs on my hand again. I ask him what and he does that grin again and winks with a 'you'll see'. He must know how much these things annoy me, I'm sure he wouldn't do it otherwise. So reluctantly I let him lead me through the park again, still with that dopey grin plastered to his face.

I know it's pointless to ask again where we're going so I ignore the urge to do so, instead admiring the chrysanthemum bushes we've strolled into. The red, white and blue standing out to me most. I smile inwardly, of course they would wouldn't they? After what feels like another half an hour, though could surely be no more than ten minutes, we stop and the hand holding mine points to something.

I look up, gasping silently at the sight before me. Now, from what I knew about this particular park is that you could have a flowerbed or tree put in for someone or something with a plaque and message. So what catches my eye is the oak tree about three feet from me; it is clearly new judging by the smell of fresh soil and the look of it. And on the ground beneath it is a small plaque, letting the hand in mine slip away I step closer to it, reading the inscription.

_For Arthur,_

_Thank you for five years already, let's keep counting them together._

_I love you._

I look up at the tree, admiring the already thick trunk and full green leaves. I reach my hand out to touch the bark tentively, as if it would fall away at my touch. It doesn't, and I press my palm against the rough surface still staring at the branches above me. Leaving my hand on the tree I turn around to look at the man behind me with a shocked expression.

He stands scratching the back of his head with a small blush on his cheeks, looking at his feet embarrassed. I step slowly away from the tree to stand in front of him, forcing the idiot to look up. He gives me a sheepish grin as he looks in my eyes, he opens his mouth to say something but I stop him by kissing him softly. Its cliché I know, but this seems to be the day for it; so when he slides his arms around my waist, I let him hold me even when we stop and lean our foreheads together. Our eyes remain closed as he speaks.

"...I do love ya Artie. I meant what it says on the plaque"

"Shut up idiot." Again I can't help but smile "...I love you too, and I'd like to keep counting years with you"

I don't need to open my eyes to know that his grin has come back blindingly bright.

"Happy anniversary Arthur"

"Happy anniversary Alfred"

Alright,

So maybe I can tolerate some surprises.


End file.
